


Where Did You Sleep Last Night?

by ThePreciousHeart



Category: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
Genre: Abortion, Aftermath, Anger, Dancing, Drinking, Gen, Married Couple, Musicians, One Night Stands, Past Relationship(s), Sleeptalking, Song Lyrics, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 09:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11941350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart
Summary: After her appointment on Saturday, Jean retreats to her apartment to reflect on her life choices and her goals for the future, and remembers the night she'd shared with Llewyn.





	Where Did You Sleep Last Night?

       It was quicker than she’d expected. Easier than she’d expected. And, thank god, relatively painless. She’d had horror stories fed to her, from her mother’s words when she was a child to explain an aunt’s absence at Thanksgiving, to the gossip she’d eavesdropped on during one of her early attempts to fit into the mystifying society of women as a young adult. And of course she’d fantasized about those poor girls who’d been unlucky enough to come into contact with Llewyn Davis- most of whom seemed too nice to deserve it. However, Jean was personally amazed at how smoothly the procedure went. It was a moment of enlightenment.

       “So…” Beth said as she and Jean made their way up to Jean’s apartment, Jean leaning on Beth’s arm. She was pretty sure she didn’t need the support, but if it would ease Beth’s mind… Her friend could be an irrational worrier at times, but one thing she’d never been was a busybody, which made her a worthy companion for today’s… outing. “What are you going to do now?”

       Jean sighed noisily as she drew out her key, ignoring Beth’s side-eye glance. “I dunno. Probably go back to bed, forget the whole thing ever happened.” Hopefully her body would allow her that. Her body, or her mind. Though the trip back to her apartment had been silent, allowing her thoughts to wander, Jean hadn’t dwelled too much on the events of the morning. But perhaps she was still trying to mentally process them.

       “Are you sure?” Beth questioned, pushing the door open with her free hand the moment Jean unlocked it. She disentangled herself from Jean’s grip and followed behind her, into the apartment. “You won’t be needing anything? You know it’s no problem for me to stay with you…”

       “No, don’t,” Jean protested, turning back to face Beth. “I’ll manage. I’ll call you if I need you, okay?”

       “All right,” Beth relented. She crossed the floor to gather Jean into her arms. “Just don’t brush this under the rug with all your other problems. Abortion's serious business, Jean…”

       “I know,” Jean sighed. She stepped back from the hug, weariness descending on her. “Thank you, Beth.”

       “Feel free to call,” Beth said. She turned tail and departed, shutting the door behind her. Jean ran her fingers through her hair before wandering over to the stove, deciding to make tea. Treat herself to something soothing, after the stressful week that had just ended along with her pregnancy.

        There was still some water in the kettle from Jim’s morning coffee. Jean turned the burner on high and rummaged in a cabinet for a mug and teabag. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her as she worked, as if she was drunk. Was that a side-effect…? No, more likely it was emotional rather than physical. Sitting down in a chair, Jean attempted to search her soul, to decipher how she felt about what had happened that morning. All she came up with was relief. _Thank god it’s over. Thank god I don’t have to put on weight and squeeze some screaming child out of my body and then have to explain to Jim why he looks like some piece of shit, loser musician._

This wasn’t how Jean had anticipated her first pregnancy _._ She’d dreamed of breaking the news to Jim, of him picking her up and spinning her around in delight. They’d finally put their money where their mouth was and move out of Greenwich Village, into a more stable life outside the city. Jean’s friends could visit and _ooh_ and _ahh_ over the baby, paying her back for all the times she’d had to do the same for them. But now, thanks to that _asshole_ with whom she’d had the misfortune of hopping into bed, the pregnancy was over before it even really started.

       She wondered if this could cause complications for any future pregnancy, and pressed her palm to her forehead, threading her fingers into her bangs. God _damn_ it. What if she’d have to tell Jim in the future, as a warning? How could he trust her after that?

       _Fuck Llewyn Davis._ How misguided she’d been to actually do so.

       The tea was made quickly, and Jean padded off to the bedroom. She set the steaming mug on the bedside table and climbed between the covers. Even though she wasn’t in pain, it was probably best to rest for a while. Just take it easy. At least Llewyn had referred her to a legitimate doctor, instead of some back-alley quack with false credentials. It made Jean feel significantly less sorry for the previous women Llewyn had impregnated, knowing the safe treatment they’d received. Though not by much, considering they’d still slept with Llewyn.

       _Llewyn…_

Jean found that her hands were shaking with anger. She reached out and gulped down a sip of tea, only to recoil and curse when its heat scoured her throat. _“Fuck!”_ Shouting felt good. It invigorated Jean, bringing a sense of life to her lethargic body. Setting the mug back on the table, Jean felt a wave of fury sweep over her. Her hands balled into fists. If Llewyn were here… Jean grinned weakly at the thought of slapping him across the face for everything he’d done. But the satisfaction was soon drowned out. Her imaginary punishment felt somewhat harsh.

       Regrettably, Jean hadn’t been drunk on the one night she’d shared with Llewyn. Of course, one couldn’t say the same for him. But perhaps that was why Jean had done it, in the end. To see if she still wanted him when sober. To prove that the attraction was only physical, that it was a foolish, fleeting fancy. And perhaps she’d wanted to see if he would actually go through with it, once they were alone together.

        Jim had been out God knows where- Jean couldn’t remember the details. Some sort of emergency, at least in his eyes, that required him to rush off in the middle of their informal soiree. Llewyn had already arrived boozed up, and the glass of wine he’d been offered at dinner hardly improved his state. He’d sat on the couch sucking the stuff down like it was water, while Jean flipped through radio stations. Some jazz tune came on, all pounding drums and a hot horn section, and when Jean turned around, she found Llewyn on his feet, holding his arms out. “Dance with me, Jean.”

       Jean laughed caustically. “God, you’re wasted.”

       “What? Doesn’t mean I can’t _dance._ ” He started to move to the music, and because Jean didn’t want him to look like a complete idiot, she joined in. It was rare, these days, to see Llewyn in such good spirits. Not since the chain of unfortunate events that had begun with Mike’s death and ended with Llewyn losing the lease to the apartment they'd shared. Mostly he badmouthed anyone who dared to come too close, shoving away his so-called friends with careless abandon. This version of Llewyn was downright weird, but Jean found herself enjoying him.

        That was all it took. The music, and the wine, and the absence of Jim, or maybe just the fact that they were alone together for the first time in _forever_. Whatever the cause, it wasn’t long before Llewyn’s hands were on Jean’s hips, and his beard was scratching her cheek, and the dancing had taken on another dimension altogether. He’d worked his fingers under her shirt before she invited him into the bedroom. It felt too intimate a setting for what would inevitably occur, or inappropriate at the very least. But there was no way Jean would settle for the couch.

        The biggest disappointment of the night was discovering that Llewyn wasn’t very good in bed. He hardly checked to make sure Jean was enjoying herself, and barely listened when she tried to direct him. Jean hoped it was the alcohol- god knew he’d had plenty of practice. The entire affair was over much too quickly, though Jean had to admit she was at least physically sated. Not emotionally, though, which answered her initial question. Jim engaged every part of her when they made love, rather than merely satisfying an urge.

        Llewyn kissed her sloppily, his breath sour with the wine, before rolling off her and turning away. Once Jean had caught her breath, she tried to get his attention, only to realize he’d fallen asleep.

       Not that he’d stayed silent. The anger began to settle in the pit of Jean’s stomach as she reflected on Llewyn’s odd bedroom behavior. It couldn’t have been long after he’d fallen asleep that he began mumbling incoherently. At first Jean thought he’d woken, but she quickly realized his words were not directed to anyone in particular. His body tensed as he spoke, and Jean leaned forward, catching a few words here and there- “hey… no, what… that’s just…”

       Jean had managed to rouse the drowsy Llewyn just long enough to haul him off to the couch. He was still there upon Jim’s return. “Idiot passed out drunk,” Jean told him as he slid into bed beside her, rolling her eyes. She’d never been sure if Jim’s sympathetic gaze was for her, having to deal with this mess, or for Llewyn. Perhaps it was for both. That was just the kind of person Jim was.

       Jean dragged herself back to reality to find that her tea had cooled considerably. She sipped it, grimly ruminating on her choices. She’d learned the hard way that life wasn’t just a series of neatly-wrapped presents, or a richly-illustrated storybook. It was more complex and came with greater consequences than she’d imagined when she was young.

       Figures in fairytales had often baffled Jean, as a child. When her mother read to her, she recognized that she was supposed to be the princess. _This is what you should hope for- this is who you ought to be._ Her parents had told her she deserved the royal treatment, and she’d believed them in the whole-hearted, naïve way that only a child can.

       However, the princes in these tales had never held much interest for Jean. Take Snow White, for instance. Or better yet, Sleeping Beauty. Jean had always wondered how she was expected to believe true love could bloom between a princess, and a man who’d only seen her unconscious before deciding to give her a kiss. Even Beauty and the Beast was a poorly-wrought tale. Why would the Beauty take this handsome, yet unfamiliar man over the hideous creature she’d grown to love, even if they were the same person?

        It was no wonder Jean had taken someone like Llewyn to bed- someone dark and moody and deeply flawed, an open flame she should have extinguished instead of embracing. Jim was her Prince Charming, but he hadn’t been able to tame Jean. He had no complications, no hang-ups, and was more well-adjusted than Llewyn by far. In short, he was almost _too_ perfect, and Jean longed for rough edges that hadn’t yet been sanded down.

       But ultimately, it hadn’t been worth it. The anger blazed within Jean once again. Fucking _Llewyn._ If he would actually grow up and learn from his mistakes, or better yet, stop making mistakes to begin with… If he could just take someone’s advice for once, instead of stubbornly forging a trail all on his own…

       There was no way in hell Jean would ever want to make babies with Llewyn, or even hold a relationship. But maybe he wouldn’t frustrate her so much, if he managed to stop ruining his own life.

*

       Jean dreamed that she was slow-dancing with Mike, resting her head against his chest as he swayed. He was singing, and the melody was a whisper in her ear, and yet at the same time it boomed across the desolate café, a solo performance for her and the empty chairs.

       _“A man may drink and not get drunk_

_“A man may fight and not be slain_

_“A man may court a pretty girl_

_“And perhaps be welcomed back again…”_

Opening her eyes, it took Jean a few moments to sort her muddled self out, before she realized that the song was still playing. The room was yellow with the glow of the bedside lamp, chasing shadows to the corners of the room. Music spilled from the half-cracked door to surround Jean. She pushed herself up in bed and listened, Mike’s voice accompanied by a soft guitar and Llewyn harmonizing in the background.

       _“But since it has so ought to be_

_“A time to rise and a time to fall_

_“Come fill to me the parting glass_

_“Goodnight and joy be with you all._

_“Goodnight and joy be with you all…”_

So engrossed in the music, Jean was startled when Jim appeared in the doorway. “Jean?” he murmured as he pushed the door open all the way.

       “Hey,” Jean said. She reached out as Jim came forward to embrace her. But he stopped as he leaned in, concern sharpened his features. “Is something wrong?”

       “Huh?” It was only then that Jean realized her eyes were full of tears. Embarrassment washed over her, and she hastily blinked them away. “No, I- I just-”

       “Was it the record?” Jim said, already apologetic. “I’m sorry, I came in and you were asleep, and I thought…”

       “No,” Jean said, and half-laughed. “No, it wasn’t the record. I’m fine, Jim.” She reached for him again and this time he complied, meeting her with a soft kiss.

        “What are you doing in bed?” Jim asked after pulling away.

       Jean shrugged. “Beth took me to this shitty Chinese place. I didn’t see eye to eye with the beef and broccoli.” That was the story Beth had agreed to corroborate. Jean slid over to make room for Jim to sit down, before raising her question. “Why were you playing that record, anyway?”

        “One of the groups today was doing ‘In the Pines,’” Jim said. “They sounded great, but…” He gave a rueful smile. “It wasn’t anything like Timlin & Davis. Sounded like a pop song. I had to play the definitive version.”

       Jean raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know if theirs is definitive.” Llewyn had taken the lead on that one, and though he’d sung well, his voice was too sweet for Jean’s liking. Such a dark, seductive song deserved to be growled between gritted teeth, and Llewyn, for all his talents, just didn’t have it in him. Mike’s raw voice suited the song much better.

       Jim gave a dismissive jerk of the head. “To me it is.”

       “So the sessions went well?”

       “Yeah, well enough.” Jim trailed his hand down Jean’s side, resting it on her hip. “Sure took forever to get things wrapped up. By the end, I felt like my fingers were going to fall off.” He gave Jean’s hip an affectionate squeeze. “I hoped you managed to keep yourself busy when I was away.”

       “Busy _enough_ ,” Jean mumbled. _Busier than you’ll ever know._ “I went out with Beth, got some reading done. Practiced. The usual.” She tried not to look away from Jim’s eyes, wondering if he could see that she was lying.

       From Jim’s obliviously sparkling gaze, Jean knew she’d gotten away with it. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t join you.” His hand slid off Jean. “But maybe you’ll care to join _me_ , for dinner?”

       Jean considered the offer carefully. After spending half the day in bed, part of her ached to get up and _do_ something. However, when she gazed upon Jim’s warm and inviting face, a cold, shivery feeling fluttered in her ribcage. She was afraid to release whatever was trapped inside her over the table with Jim.

       “Nah.” Jean wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not put anything in my stomach. Let me rest a little, okay?”

       “Boy, that Chinese must have done a number on you.” Though Jim looked rather surprised, his tone didn’t show it.

       “I’ve had worse disagreements with my food,” Jean muttered. “Just a little while, and then I’ll be out- okay?”

       “Okay.” Jim moved forward to kiss Jean’s cheek, and Jean closed her eyes, inhaling his comforting scent. “Feel better, honey.”

       “Thanks.” Jean rolled onto her side and watched as Jim left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Pillowing her head on her arm, she screwed her eyes shut as the stinging tears returned with a vengeance.

        She didn’t regret what she’d done that morning. It had been her decision to terminate the pregnancy, just it had been her decision not to tell Jim… just as it had been her decision to sleep with Llewyn. An ill-advised decision, but her decision nonetheless. However, Jean knew now that no matter what happened in the future, she could never tell Jim about the abortion. Not because he’d get angry. Not because he’d hold it against her. Not because he’d try to go after Llewyn. But because he would have accepted her pregnancy, regardless of whose child it was. As long as she showed remorse, he would have forgiven her for cheating. All Jim asked of Jean was her love, and a future together. It was their dream- what she hoped for, who she ought to be. Jean had never been entirely convinced, but now she felt sure that she wasn't worth the attention and pride Jim lavished upon her.

       _Well… no use in feeling sorry for yourself._ Jean had managed to keep herself afloat through all the unlucky breaks in her life, and there was no reason why she had to wallow now. Still, it took a while for the tears to subside and the bittersweet poignancy to stop gripping her chest. Eventually she sat up and wiped her eyes. If Jim asked why she was upset, she could always lie and say it was the record after all. _If We Had Wings_ was seldom played in the household for that very reason.

      She composed herself and got up from the bed. Tomorrow, the day’s events would have faded away. As if they’d never happened in the first place. Jean would be free to return to her supposedly peaceful life with Jim, as if no one had ever interrupted it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit that reading about medical procedures squicks me out, so I'm clueless in regards to how safe the abortion might have been for Jean and if I glossed over any details, I apologize.
> 
> I have quite a few headcanons about Jean that I couldn't fit entirely into this fic, but if the inspiration strikes I might share them later. Then again, I might not.
> 
> Lastly, it turns out If We Had Wings has a [canon tracklist](http://gregoryhilldesign.photoshelter.com/image/I0000fypgji3P5z8) \- but I was halfway through writing this piece when I discovered it, and had already made up my own tracklist. I did decide to include "In the Pines" though, best exemplified by [this version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZG_p61cRArs) (though based on their rendition of "Dink's Song," I feel like Timlin & Davis would have sounded more like [this).](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWrSg5znyMU)
> 
> EDIT: Fun fact, it turns out that tracklist is nigh-identical to the tracklist of Dave Van Ronk's first record. Whether that makes it more or less canonical is up to whoever's interpreting it, I suppose.


End file.
